


Snow on Snow

by alutiv



Series: Four Seasons [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Three Flat Problem, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alutiv/pseuds/alutiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It is London’s coldest winter in years.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [in the gardens and the graves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/968291) by [alutiv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alutiv/pseuds/alutiv). 



It is London’s coldest winter in years. The brittle air spikes into Greg’s lungs with every breath, and the sweetest moment of every single day is the one when he walks into his (their) flat and John kisses feeling back into his lips. He holds onto that moment every evening after supper, when John goes out for a walk, alone with his thoughts, and comes home with reddened ears and nose and hands like ice.

Greg gives him gloves for Christmas: buttery soft leather, cashmere lining. Snow swirls outside the window, fat flakes gathering into a thick blanket on the ground.

After supper, John slips on his old coat and new gloves. He pauses at the door and clears his throat.

“I thought you might fancy a walk with me.”

Greg tries not to let his surprise show. "Sure. Just let me get my—"

John is already holding up Greg’s coat. Shrugging into it, he can’t help but laugh.

They walk to the nearly deserted park, snowflakes dotting abstract patterns on their sleeves, settling in their hair, melting on their skin. John keeps his gloved hands in his pockets. Greg tips his head back and sticks out his tongue to catch the flakes.

John’s laugh rings sharp and clear. Greg grins and tries for another just to hear that laugh again.


	2. Chapter 2

From behind, instead of laughter, Greg gets hit square between the shoulder blades. He whirls around, and it takes a long moment to find John, now half-hidden behind a tree. Greg puts it all together just as a second snowball slams straight into the center of his chest.

“Oh, mate,” he says, his grin turning predatory, “you are going to be so sorry you did that.” He scoops up a double handful of snow, packing it into a ball and darting to the side, behind another tree. John is crouched down now, presenting the smallest possible target while keeping easy access to his frozen ammunition. He’s building a neat little stockpile of snowballs, and Greg has a flash of what John must have looked like some three decades ago, before life and loss left their marks on him.

Greg’s best chance in this fight lies in subterfuge. He hefts a rock out of the snow and launches it at the farthest tree he thinks he can hit, rewarded with a solid thud and a small avalanche from the branches. John leaps to his feet, flinging a snowball toward the sound. Greg circles around and behind John, grabs his collar, and shoves the snowball between the soft oatmeal jumper and John’s warm skin.

“Fuck!” John spins, slips, flails, begins to fall backward.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg reaches forward in what starts as a simple steadying hand and ends up with both his arms wrapped around John’s ribs. It seems all too likely the momentum will take them both down, but they don’t fall. 

“That,” says John, his breath hot on Greg’s neck, “was a dirty trick.” 

“All’s fair,” Greg answers, sliding his hands down to squeeze John’s arse through the worn denim. John presses closer, cupping one hand around the back of Greg’s neck. The dusting of snow on the leather glove sparks a full-body shiver. 

John’s grin is positively wicked for the instant before Greg snogs it right off his face. A trail of kisses along his jaw to the spot just beneath his ear draws a deep groan, and when Greg nips at it, John’s entire body goes rigid. 

“Really not playing fair,” he pants, and Greg smiles against his neck. “We are going to freeze out here.” 

“That would be a shame,” Greg murmurs, still holding John firmly, pushing a knee between John’s thighs and giving one good thrust against him, “because I have plans that would be seriously compromised by a case of frostbite.” 

John’s hips buck under Greg’s hands. 

Greg leans into a rough kiss before forcing himself to let go. “Home. Now. Where we can forget all about the cold.”

**Author's Note:**

> This Christmas falls between chapters one and two of [in the gardens and the graves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/968291). 
> 
> "Snow on snow" is from Rossetti's "[In the Bleak Mid-Winter](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/238450)".
> 
> My thanks, as always, to LapOtter and corpsereviver2 for the "Three Flat Problem" form.


End file.
